


Missed Call

by ourthemeislove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (kind of- but no character death), Aging, Angst, Crying, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Swearing, Worry, Yuri Plisetsky Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourthemeislove/pseuds/ourthemeislove
Summary: “F-forget it,” he bites out. “I just- it doesn’t-”But he realises he is speaking to no-one as he hears a clatter in the background, the murmur of voices in hurried conversation and then-“Yura,” Viktor says, and it’s probably just the way he says it that has Yuri spiralling, in the end- all soft and low with almost fatherly concern. “What ever is the matter?”





	Missed Call

They are not answering their phones. Yuri feels a bit like an ungrateful child, demanding their attention. Their phones could be dead, turned off- and they’re busy doing. Doing engaged-people things, whatever the fuck.

But there’s still something clawing horribly in his chest, compressed emotion threatening to break free. His hands shake as if he’s still just off the ice, riding the post-adrenaline high. Except, shaking hands don’t really help when he’s trying to dial the reception desk from his out-dated room phone. Honestly, he’s sure some hotels haven’t bothered with updating them in decades.

He stumbles over the request, not sure if their room is booked under Katsuki or Nikiforov, but he is eventually connected. The dial tone is far too short, not giving him enough time to back out when Yuuri answers:

“Hello?… Hello? Um, sorry, who is this?”

He sounds… confused. Yuri realises he should be answering, but he is suddenly stricken with how selfish this is. He is interrupting, he is _interrupting_ \- The something in his chest threatens to break free again and he bites down hard on his knuckles.

But, again, he’s too late. Too late to stop the shaky breath from escaping, and from the silence on the other end, he knows Yuuri has heard.

“Hello?” he says again, but it’s different this time. Gentle. Expectant. “Yurio?”

That almost has him demanding _how_ until he realises they’ve probably checked their own phones, by now. Three missed calls, for each of them. It doesn’t take much to piece that together.

“F-forget it,” he bites out. “I just- it doesn’t-”

But he realises he is speaking to no-one as he hears a clatter in the background, the murmur of voices in hurried conversation and then-

“Yura,” Viktor says, and it’s probably just the way he says it that has Yuri spiralling, in the end- all soft and low with almost fatherly concern. “What ever is the matter?”

He bites down harder on his knuckles, hard enough to draw blood. “I- n-nothing-it doesn’t-” he gets out, but his breathing is all wrong.

“Come over,” Viktor says instantly. “Please. We’re on the fourth floor, I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

He hangs up before Yuri can protest.

 

~

 

It does not turn out to be Viktor that meets him at the elevator. Yuuri is standing there with a small smile as the doors open.

“Viktor’s having trouble with the kettle,” he says, and Yuri blinks.

“The fuck?”

Yuuri’s smile widens as he beckons him down the hall. “He’s trying to make drinks. _Trying_.”

His tone is light, encouraging Yuri to laugh, but he can’t. How can he, when Yuuri is standing there, dressing gown clearly hurriedly thrown on. He shouldn’t be here, he should be enjoying time with his _fiancé_ , but Yuri has dragged him away, he’s interrupting, he’s _ruining_ -

His thoughts are thrown to the wind when a door to his left opens and Viktor’s hand waves into view. He is holding a bunch of typically terrible hot chocolate sachets, shaking them emphatically.

“I don’t understand, Yuuri,” he whines. “How does powder turn into anything remotely drinkable?!”

Yuuri sighs indulgently, and gestures for him to enter.

“The instructions are on the back of the packet, Viktor,” he says, saying Viktor’s name with as much reverence as someone would say _love._

“Oh.”

Yuri steps into their room and, just like magic, any unease he felt about _interrupting_ is gone. It’s not like before, hanging around darkened rooms before his mother would hiss at him to disappear. There’s an openness here that Yuri has hardly seen before- yes, Yuuri and Viktor are kissing in front of him, just little pecks as they fuss over the kettle, but they have also moved all of their things onto the little sofa, clearly intending to give him the space to sit on the bed.

So, he does. For once, he doesn’t perch on something like he’s ready to run away. Viktor joins him, and there’s a pregnant pause. Yuri realises they are patiently giving him the time to break it.

“Grandpa fell today,” Yuri says. He sniffs, pulling one long breath in, and then out. He hopes it will help. It doesn’t. “Just- just a little fall but...”

Viktor and Yuuri are both staring at him.

“Yura,” Viktor says urgently. He shuffles closer on the bed, hand closing over Yuri’s shoulder, and he asks in one breath, “Is he alright?”

Yuri nods. “Yeah- yeah he’s-” His voice splinters, and everything threatens to unravel again. “He’s fine but...” Viktor’s arms wrap around his shoulders, a warm and reassuring hold. Yuri chances a glance up and sees Yuuri leaning against the desk, gaze open and attentive. So worried.

Yuri has never felt so _worried over_ in his life, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“He’s just _old_ ,” he says finally. The words are a desperate release of air, and Viktor’s arms tighten around him. “He- he’s getting… he’s getting old a-and confused and-and-and-”

“Shh,” Yuuri says suddenly. “Take a moment.”

“-and they didn’t _tell_ me,” he soldiers on, “No-one told me until a-after I got off the ice and… he c-called. Voice mail, o-obviously and he- he sounded so _small_.”

He finally takes a moment. He can hear Viktor breathing shallowly next to him. Yuuri is opening his mouth, though, and that is the spark to keep him talking because, damn it, he needs to get this out. For Grandpa.

“He mixes names up, sometimes,” he says. He feels Viktor freeze. “S-sometimes I- I know he’s thinking of me, but h-he’ll say your name instead a-and… other days he doesn’t even get _that_ right and it’s-” He laughs, harsh and horrible, because he’s scared if he doesn't, he'll cry. “So stupid but I- if he-” He swallows. Time for the heart of the matter.

“No-one told me because they were worried I wouldn’t- couldn’t- _skate_ ,” he spits. “As if I’d- as if I’d fucking care a-about any of that shit, right? I-I’d give up a thousand medals f-for- fuck this, I-”

“I understand,” Yuuri says quietly. The certainty in his voice is clear.

And, finally, there is the strength to ask:

“I need you two-” His voice wobbles again, and the thing in his chest burns with shame at how he stumbles over _I need you_ \- “Would you w-watch my phone? Whenever I’m- I’m about to… and if something happens, you need to tell me. Please. R-right away.”

He thinks he just catches Yuuri’s nod before his vision blurs. He can’t stop himself babbling on, as he hides his face just in case-

“W-would you do that f-for me? P-please, Vitya, I-I _trust_ you-”

“Yura,” Viktor says. He pulls Yuri close, cupping the back of his head with his palm. “Of course, of _course_ I-we- oh, hush now, there, it’s-”

“I- I tell him _everything_ ,” Yuri says. The thing claws up and out of his chest, burning his throat, his eyes and he’s sobbing, finally, shaking with the force of it. “Y- you know? J-just stupid little things but... W-what… I don’t know what I’ll do if-when-”

“You can tell me anything you want,” Viktor whispers fiercely. “You hear me, Yura? You hear me? I mean it. _Anything_.”

“I- I don’t want to be alone,” Yuri cries, surprising even himself. “P-please don’t let me be-”

“We’re here,” he hears Yuuri say, with that strong certainty returning, “Whenever you... you must know that. Any time.”

“Th-thank you,” Yuri says. He can’t remember the last time he’s said that and meant it.

He loses himself to his own sobs, finally fully collapsing into Viktor’s hold. The fear pours out of his cries, and it’s only when he hears a hushed, “How long have you been _carrying_ this alone?” that he even considers Viktor might be crying, too.

And, well. He doesn’t know what to do with that, either. But, as Viktor keeps holding onto him, and Yuuri prepares shitty hot chocolate, he finds that… the fear of _not knowing_ might not scare him so much.


End file.
